


Seven Nights

by bella (bella_azzurri)



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Light Angst, Post-Endgame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-13 16:56:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bella_azzurri/pseuds/bella
Summary: After the flurry of their homecoming and debriefings, he finds her sitting alone at one in the morning. He joins her, seven nights in a row.





	Seven Nights

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta-ed. All mistakes are mine.

* * *

_Last night we met at one_

If he didn’t already have the exact coordinates, he would have completely missed her. This particular part of the outskirts wasn’t very popular - for one thing, there is no trail leading up this hill; the other, it is a distance from any walking trails or housing. A long time ago it may have been the meeting place for lovers and other clandestine activities, but as he trudges through the undergrowth, it is clear that no one else has been here for decades.

How she knows of this place, he isn’t sure he wants to know. What he does want to know was why she comes up here past midnight. Their debriefings were over, and he always expected her to be relishing her time off after fighting tooth and nail to get home for seven years.

Instead, using his tracking skills, he follows a haphazard, recently tread-on undergrowth on the orders of a sleep-deprived, worried half-Klingon.

The brush clears as he reaches the top, and when he finally steps through, he sees her seated back outlined against the backdrop of the starry sky and dim lights of the distant city below. She is stiff, and, presumably recognising his footsteps, relaxes.

He doesn’t bother asking, instead sits an arms length from her on the grass. Her knees are pulled up and her chin rests on them, her arms wrapped around her legs. The only acknowledgement of his presence is when she cocks her head to his side.

She says nothing, and neither does he.

Eventually, she gets up and leaves him sitting alone.

***

_Last night, we met at one_  
_ Drank til two_

She doesn’t tense at his approach tonight, unsurprised that he is back again. He settles down cross-legged next to her as he had the night before.

This time, it doesn’t take long for her to find her voice.

“B’Elanna?”

“She’s convinced you’re sleepwalking, by the way.”

Kathryn’s only response is to huff. Of course she knew her worried friend was fussing over her. And only B’Elanna Torres would be able to manipulate the simplest piece of technology to track her captain’s biosignature.

She replies, “Well, you can tell her I’m not. Sleep remains a stranger to me, for the most part.”

“Is that why you’re here, at one in the morning?”

She turns to look at him, finally, “What about you? Won’t you be missed?”

“I sleep alone, Kathryn,” he says.

Ah, and there it was.

She knows her features are schooled to a neutral expression, but she wonders how much her eyes are betraying her by the light of the stars. Was this the answer she was looking for? The answer that crusty old Admiral wanted?

It didn’t matter now. Here, at one in the morning, in that incongruous stretch between the edge of night and the first light of dawn.

She relinquishes a hand from her knees to grasp at a bottle. He looks at her in surprise. She lifts it to her mouth and takes a gulp of the pinot.

She thrusts the hand holding the bottle out to him. He takes it from her, feeling its near-full weight.

“I had a glass at dinner, it was a shame to waste it,” she says, a slight defensiveness creeping into her voice. She settles her chin back on her knees.

He shrugs, tipping the mouth of the bottle towards him. He takes a sip and holds the bottle in his hand as he peers at the label.

“So what’s keeping my friend up in the safety of the Alpha Quadrant?” he asks.

“Loose ends,” she mumbles, her eyes gazing forward.

He tilts his head to her side, “Hmm?”

“Have you ever felt like you’ve just grinded to a halt after running for a long time?”

Understanding crosses his face, “You don’t know what to do with yourself?”

“After seven years of relying on our survival instincts, and to be back in the blink of an eye, it seems my mind hasn’t caught up to the reality,” she says.

He holds out the bottle to her. She grasps at the neck, and their fingers brush against each other. She feels a tingle then, and pretends not to notice the slight hitch in his breath. She takes a swig, then places it between them.

He says, “You didn’t really believe this moment would come, didn’t think of what comes next.”

She shifts, stretching her legs out in front of her and leaning back on her hands.

“I thought I did, Chakotay. I was wrong,” she says, not bothering to hide the melancholy.

“Well, neither did I. So here’s to us, at loose ends,” he declares, picking up the bottle and taking a gulp.

She turns her head to look at him, warmth and empathy in her eyes, “I’m sorry about you and Seven.”

“It was over before it really began, Kathryn,” he confesses.

Ah, and there it was, again.

She frowned, eyebrows knitted, “You married her. In the other timeline.”

He holds the bottle out and she takes it.

“A whole new destiny, right?” It wasn’t a question.

She lifts the bottle in salute before taking a drink, and he does the same when she hands it back to him.

They sit in silence for a long time, exchanging the bottle until it’s empty, and she rises first to leave.

***

_Last night, we met at one_  
_ Drank til two_  
_ Danced til four_

He brings the bottle this time. Antarian cider.

Tonight, she looks at him as he comes up to her side, her chin still resting on her knees. Her eyes are a bit softer now, and the occasional breeze ruffles at her loose hair. It’s a little longer now, and she’d taken to putting it up during their debriefings.

He sits down, crossing his legs. He feels a little bit bolder tonight, so he’s sat a little closer to her. He opens the cider and offers the first drink. She accepts, toasting at him before taking a sip. When she holds it out, he repeats the gesture.

“I heard they offered you Voyager,” she says.

“I heard they offered you a promotion to Admiral,” he counters.

She shrugs, thrusting her arm out for the bottle.

“It might give you something to look forward to. No longer at loose ends.”

“I’m not sure riding a desk would help with that. Besides, that’s a long time away,” she says, alluding to their extended leave.

They continue swapping the bottle between them as they talk.

“I’ve missed you, Kathryn,” he says.

She looks at him, “I’ve missed you, too. Every time I see or think about something, I turn and you’re not there to talk with. I suppose that’s contributed to how I’m feeling.”

“We relied on each other a lot.”

“We did.”

“Are we the only ones?”

“I know Harry’s thinking of starting a support group.”

They segue into discussion about the crew. Initially voicing their worries on how everyone is faring, it evolves into reminiscing the good times on Voyager. And there were, he realises. Between alien attacks and ship-eating nebulas, they endured a remarkable journey and forged deep, unwavering friendships.

They fall silent again, the bottle now empty.

She says, “I didn’t just rely on you. I think early on, I made a decision. I didn’t just make you my first officer out of necessity, I decided that there was something worth sticking by you for.”

He’s a little surprised at her confession, “A pledge?”

She hesitates, “A promise. Of commitment.”

He doesn’t ask her to elaborate. Seven years is a long time, and they knew they’d both strayed that path. Yet here they are now, the tendrils of their spirits reaching in hyper awareness of each other. He’s a deeply spiritual man, and this awakening feels like it’s stretched over untold numbers of lifetimes and multiverses. Always seeking, sometimes finding, sometimes not.

He wonders if they will find it here, in this existence.

He knows how close they came to being one of the unlucky ones.

He’s grateful to the old Admiral.

“Dance with me,” he says, slowly getting up. The cider’s definitely gone to his head.

She snorts, “What?”

“You heard me, Kathryn.”

“Chakotay, there’s no music!”

“I can sing if you want,” he offers.

“I’ve heard you on New Earth, and I have to say your cooking skills are infinitely better,” she’s bemused now.

“Okay, you sing then.”

“Kathryn Janeway most certainly does not sing!” she protests, even as she holds her hands out.

He pulls her to her feet anyway, and she laughs.

Laughter. It’s the first time he hears it from her in years. The same deep, throaty, from-the-belly laugh they used to share so very long ago.

They both wobble a little, partly from the cider, partly from their close proximity to each other. He locks on to her eyes as his hands wander to circle her waist. She slides her hands up his arms to rest on his shoulders, leaving a trail of fire. He only just manages to tamp down a shudder.

They start to move. She doesn’t look away from his piercing stare. He’s reluctant to name it just yet, but he’s finding himself transported back to a time when anything was possible. When there was plenty of time.

How the hell did he allow this to slip away from him? From them? His grip tightens against her waist, and once again, he is grateful.

He hums a little, and she chuckles softly. He guides them in a slow dance, and so far they’ve not stepped on each other’s toes.

He attempts a clumsy dip at the end. She laughs again.

He pulls her back up, and they begin again in silence. He’s not sure how long this goes for, but it feels like a while.

When they slow to a stop, she lowers her head and extracts herself from him. She reaches out to his cheek, the feathery touch of her fingers gracing him.

She leaves.

***

_Last night, we met at one_  
_ Drank til two_  
_ Danced til four_  
_ Walked you home_

Kathryn uncorks the distinctive bottle just as she hears his approach.

“Do you think this counts as excessive?”

He sits next to her, their sides now pressing against each other.

“What, Romulan ale?” he asks.

She shook her head, “We’ve been drinking three nights in a row, now.”

“I won’t tell the Doctor if you won’t,” he says conspiratorially.

She offers the first drink to him.

Tonight, or this morning, depending on how one looked at it, they’re a little more at ease. The unspoken heightened awareness is familiar and pleasant.

He asks her how she’s feeling, and she admits she’s still feeling lost, but she’s come to look forward to these meetings with him.

He tells her he’s glad B’Elanna sent him. She tells him she’s glad it was him who came.

They begin their peculiar little ritual, exchanging the bottle between them as they alternate between speaking and silence. Romulan ale is strong, and this particularly well-aged one she managed to procure packs a punch.

The bottle empties, and they simultaneously shift. Joints crack, and they both break into soft chuckles.

“We should at least stand,” she suggests.

“I once chugged down a bottle of Romulan ale when I was a first year cadet. I don’t recall being able to stand after,” Chakotay says.

She grabs his hands and attempts to pull, despite her own unsteady feet, “Well, it was only half a bottle this time. Up you get, old man.”

“Don’t make me go there, Kathryn.”

One side of her mouth quirks up, “Well, I’m an old woman, so it takes one to know one.”

“You’re not old, Kathryn. Not to me,” he says, relenting and uses some of his body weight to get up.

“You either. It’s just a habit I picked up from B’Elanna.”

She starts to hum, and he chuckles. She pretends to be mad, but it only makes him laugh.

They’re in each other’s arms again, and while it might be easy to blame it on the ale, they were definitely closer than they were last night. Her right hand was resting on his heart, the other around his neck. His fingers are locked around the small of her back.

“I think you two are hanging around each other far too much these days,” he says.

She pauses and cocks an eyebrow, “Is that a bad thing?”

“No, B’Elanna loves you in her own way, and she’s glad you’re still there for her.”

“I’m not much help with baby advice, but Mom and Phoebe have been amazing,” she tells him.

She starts humming again, and they sway together. It’s really all they can do after ingesting half a bottle each.

The humming eventually stops, and she buries her face in his chest. She feels the sigh she emits vibrate through his body, and he shivers. His arms around her tighten, and she feels a kiss dropped on the top of her head.

They’re barely moving, and nothing matters now but the grounding presence of his embrace. She remembers it’s one of the things she’d denied herself on Voyager, fearing it would simply stifle her and compromise her rigid confines of a Starfleet captain.

Here, right now, in the warm cocoon that is all Chakotay, it felt right. It felt… intimate.

She lifts her head to look at him. She doesn’t need to say anything. He knows, too.

Her soft, raspy voice cuts through the white noise of the night, “Walk me home?”

He nods. She pulls away, and tentatively reaches out to take his hand. He meets her halfway, and she’s silently relieved.

They’re not as tipsy as they were before, but they walk slowly and steadily. Surprisingly, neither stumble on the hill’s decline.

They don’t let go of their hands on the long walk home..

At her door, he kisses her, the first touch of their lips making her shiver. He rubs her arms to soothe the sensation.

For a second, she thinks he might kiss her again. He doesn’t, and he softly bids her goodnight.

***

_Last night, we met at one_  
_ Drank til two_  
_ Danced til four_  
_ Walked you home_  
_ Awake til dawn_

He cheats tonight, asking B’Elanna for a site-to-site transport. His friend raises an eyebrow at him, but says nothing. She’s usually awake anyway, choosing to take Miral’s midnight feeds and assigning Tom the early-morning ones.

He still has to climb up the hill, though, but at least the champagne will be cold.

She turns now when she hears him, and her face brightens ever so slightly. He likes that, likes seeing her like this. She’s more relaxed, sitting cross-legged instead of huddled up like before.

He sits down, following her stance, their knees touching.

Their ritual begins with his offering to her of the first drink.

“Have you thought about doing anything else now we’re home?” he asks.

She shrugs, “I spent a few weeks in Indiana. Being footloose and fancy-free isn’t something I’m very comfortable with.”

“And here we are.”

“Maybe I just need to get my bearings. Figure out what’s next besides Starfleet.”

“Chart a course?”

She looks at him sideways, “Perhaps.”

“Well, I’m not much of a pilot, but I’m willing to take on the road yet to be traveled,” he says.

“You’ve always been much braver than I, Chakotay.”

He shakes his head, “Kathryn, you’re the most courageous person I know. You’ve gotten us through more scrapes than I can count.”

She doesn’t respond straight away, but when she does, her voice is quiet.

“The Captain is brave. Kathryn sometimes is not.”

“I've known Kathryn for a long time. I think you underestimate yourself.”

They drink in silence.

When the bottle is empty, she stands, taking several steps forward. He thinks she might leave, but she stays still, her arms wrapped around herself as she looks up at the sky.

He stands to join her. They’ve stood like this on the bridge before countless times, him standing to the left and just slightly behind her. It’s his way of lending his strength and support.

He lifts his right hand across to touch her right shoulder. Her left hand creeps up to cover it. He moves just enough for her to lean back into him, and he winds his left arm around her.

Her temple rests against his jaw, and her scent surrounds him.

He closes his eyes. Unwittingly, they begin to sway.

She sighs, and it’s the most content sound he hears from her in a long time.

He doesn’t know how long they remain like this, but at some point she turns to wrap her arms around him, her entire body pressed up against him. He brings up a hand to rest on the back of her head, his fingers tangling into her soft hair.

When she steps back from him, she doesn’t need to ask. He walks her home, her hand in his.

At the door, she shyly asks him inside.

The shyness charms him.

She replicates glasses of water and brings them to where he is sitting on the couch. She downs half a glass and sets it on the table, then sinks down next to him, folding her legs under her.

She’s facing him, and he shifts closer, putting down his now-empty water glass next to hers. He takes the opportunity to wrap his arm around her, so that she nestles against him, her face half buried in the side of his neck.

He brushes aside the hair that’s fallen on her face, tucking it behind her ear. She draws her head back to look up at him, and he meets her mouth halfway. He moves them so that she is now straddling him.

They come up for air, breathing heavily, but the underlying passion has definitely ignited. He knows she can feel how much he wants her, and he’s amazed that she's still sitting here like this. He’s happy just to be here like this with her, and the arousal eventually dulls to a murmur.

They don’t sleep, both content to sit in each other’s arms. She occasionally sits up, gently exploring his face with her fingers. He doesn’t mind, letting her traverse the lines and curves as long as she wants.

At the first light of dawn, she offers him a coffee, but he declines.

They walk to the door. She opens it. Their mouths meet and he tries to convey all that he hasn’t said in one kiss.

They draw back, and he presses his forehead to hers before finally letting go.

He can feel her eyes on him as he walks away.

***

_Last night, we met at one_  
_ Drank til two_  
_ Danced til four_  
_ Walked you home_  
_ Awake til dawn_  
_ Slept til noon_

She pinched the bottle of sherry from her mother’s cabinet during her last visit, and she brings it tonight.

He accepts her offering as soon as he is sat comfortably beside her. They are close now, and she rests against him.

“If you accepted the promotion, you could get a site-to-site transport,” he says.

She snorts, “Is that how you managed to keep the champagne on ice?”

“A Maquis never gives away his secrets,” he replies.

She takes a drink, “A certain half-Klingon and very brilliant engineer is hardly a secret.”

He chuckles, taking the bottle from her.

“I went to Lake George today,” she says.

“Oh?” he responds.

“I thought I’d take you up on your advice, see the places I’d dreamed of when we were out there.”

“And?”

“It’s not the same. Not without someone to share it with,” she admits.

He looks at her hopefully. He says, “Neither was Trebus. I was happy to see my sister and her family, but there was something missing.”

She nods.

“Or someone,” he says softly.

She’s overcome by his admission, and she squeezes his arm.

They pass the bottle back and forth.

“Did you know Tom and Harry are planning a reunion in a few months?” she asks him.

“Susan mentioned it when she commed me today. She said they’re thinking of Risa.”

She nearly chokes on the sherry, “Risa? Of all the places in the quadrant…”

He laughs, “That’s what Susan said. I think she and a few others are trying to talk them into somewhere else. Maybe Mars, or somewhere here on Earth.”

“Mars would be nice, although I’m sure we’ll be able to find a tropical beach that’s a little less gauche, and much quieter, than Risa.”

“I’ll make sure the Captain signs off on the plan before they make any reservations,” he says.

“See that you do,” she grins.

They finish the sherry, and they both lean back on their elbows to stare at the familiar sky and its constellations. She points out planets to him, even though he already knows, and he recounts some of Earth’s legends associated with the constellations.

She could name each star and its stellar classification, but he could weave a story about that star and the ones surrounding it.

It was one of the things that made them work so well somehow. Day and night. Yin and yang.

Needing to stretch her legs, she stands. He joins her, and she giggles when one of his knees cracks, the noise breaking through the still night. He chuckles along, and she takes both his hands in hers.

Their fingers twine together, and she says, “Any requests for a tune?”

He looks up from their joined hands to catch the mirth in her eyes. He breaks out into a wide grin and huffs out a laugh. She thinks this really is a funny little ritual they’ve established.

“We should have borrowed one of Tom’s music collections,” she suggests.

“Are you kidding? I don’t know even a fifth of anything he’s ever sung when we’re in a shuttle together,” he says, rolling his eyes.

“You should hear the one he sings Miral to sleep with right now. Something about a horse and an old town road. B’Elanna’s quite sick of it,” she snickers.

“I can imagine,” he says.

He pulls his hands from hers and she willingly steps into him, one hand against the small of her back and the other at her nape. She circles her arms around his middle and presses her cheek against his heart.

Despite his calm exterior, she can hear his heart thudding rapidly. She knows hers is the same.

It comforts her, knowing he is just as nervous as she is.

Once again, they move silently to an unknown rhythm. He makes an attempt to twirl her, but the wine makes her indecisive on which way to turn, and she falls giggling back into his arms.

He teases her that she’s the dancer out of the two of them and should know better.

She retorts that he’s had plenty of time and offers from her to learn. He jokes that if he did, he would have humiliated them both at Talent Night when he tripped on his two left feet.

“So why are you comfortable doing this now?” she asks.

He says simply, “Because it’s with you. Just you.”

She’s come to the realisation since he first sought her out, that she still loves him.

Tentatively, but sincerely, Kathryn tells him so.

He doesn’t respond, but from the intensity in his dark eyes, she’s sure he feels the same.

She didn’t need to ask, and he walks her home.

When she pushes her door open, one hand clasped in his, she silently leads him to her bedroom.

They fall asleep at the first signs of dawn, a tangle of naked limbs.

She drifts into wakefulness alone, at noon. It’s the longest she’s slept since their homecoming.

There’s a growing pit of despair and emptiness at the realisation he hasn’t stayed, but she drags herself out of bed anyway, covering herself with her robe.

She runs a hand through her messy hair, thinking a coffee will do her some good.

In the kitchen, she notices her food stasis unit in use. She opens it, and pulls out a tray with a plate of eggs benedict with asparagus, coffee and a pink rose. She picks up the rose and nearly misses the little note underneath.

Written in Chakotay’s flowing script is _Yours, C._

She hugs the note to her chest, the pit in her stomach quickly replaced by joy.

Her appetite returned, she tucks into her meal.

***

_Last night, we met at one_  
_ Drank til two_  
_ Danced til four_  
_ Walked you home_  
_ Awake til dawn_  
_ Slept til noon_  
_ And now I want more_

She’s standing, waiting, tapping the padd she held in one hand at her thigh. At the sound of his arrival, she turns, but waits until he reaches her.

She throws her arms around his neck, and nearly knocks the breath out of him. Luckily for them both, he’s managed not to drop the merlot even as his free hand snakes around her.

He tells her she looks radiant tonight. She smiles self-consciously, ducking her head slightly, and he lifts her chin with a finger so that she meets his eyes again. He leans down to kiss her.

He takes her hand and they sink to the ground. He sits with his legs apart, and she settles between them, resting her back against his chest. He uncorks the bottle in front of them, where she covers the hand holding the bottle with hers and takes the first drink.

He takes a swig before settling the bottle beside them.

“Thank you for lunch today,” she says, twisting to look at him. She raises a hand to cup his cheek.

He turns his head to kiss her palm, “It was meant to be breakfast, but I’m just as glad you’ve slept more than a few hours.”

She rolls her eyes, although she finds his fussing over her endearing. She always had.

“I was thinking,” she starts.

“Is that a good thing? Ow,” he says as her elbow comes into contact with his ribs. He shakes with silent laughter and she rolls her eyes again.

“As I was saying, I wouldn’t mind some company at Lake George. There’s plenty of cabins for rent. We could stay a few days and then move on to, oh, Arizona?”

He takes a drink and hands the bottle to her, “Mmm, so we’re doing a little wandering?”

“Something like that,” she admits.

“What about Starfleet?”

She takes a deep breath, “Starfleet’s a long time away. I’ll accept the promotion, but right now, it’s about getting as far away from that as possible.”

Before he has a chance to say anything, she continues, “What about you?”

“Captaining Voyager won’t be the same, but they’ve promised short assignments. Who knows, there might be occasions for a certain Admiral to be onboard for diplomatic missions,” he says, eyes twinkling.

She knows this, he knows she does, but he is telling her all that he isn’t saying right now. That he would come back to her. That their time is now.

She shifts, turning to face him, her legs wrapping around his torso.

She places both hands on his chest, “We could borrow a shuttle, wander further afield.”

“So no more excursions up here at one in the morning?” he asks.

“Not unless you want to, although taking a shuttle to get here might be overkill,” she grins.

He laughs, “Only with you, but I’d like to come back as often as we can. We found something here.”

“Us,” she says softly.

“Kathryn, I love you. I’ve never stopped,” he tells her.

She already knows, but to hear him say it now, her eyes fill with unshed tears. He hugs her to him.

They abandon the rest of the wine.

She picks up the padd she’d tossed aside. He pretends to eye it warily.

“Kathryn, if that’s one of Tom’s twentieth century music…”

She shoves him playfully, and he falls back on one elbow, chuckling. She stands and lets out an indignant huff, then presses a finger to the padd.

Soft, slow jazz fills the air. It’s her collection, one of many she’s played during their numerous dinners on Voyager.

She holds her hand out to him, winking, “Fifth time’s the charm.”

He doesn’t argue, taking her hand and heaving himself off the ground.

She nestles contentedly into his arms. He rubs her back slowly, and they are barely moving to the music.

Their walk home takes longer than usual. She can’t stop touching him, and vice versa. At one point they are necking like teenagers against a lamp post, and he sensibly pulls back, telling her if they didn’t keep stopping, they would be home by now.

They quicken their pace, hands clasped tightly, and they don’t stop until she pushes her door open and he kicks it shut behind them.

In the privacy of her home, they reach for each other.

She’s a little more desperate to be close to him tonight, pulling harder at his clothes. He responds with just as much fervour, and growls frustratedly at undoing the buttons running down the back of her dress. She giggles, crossing her arms in front and grabbing the dress to lift it over her head.

They only just make it to her bed without falling over. The room fills with the sounds of sweat-damped bodies sliding together and cries of pleasure, echoing until both have taken their fill of each other.

Just before she succumbs to sleep, she whispers, “Stay.”

He tightens his hold on her, “I’m not going anywhere.”

She snuggles deeper into his arms.

The sun is high in the sky when they wake up to each other.

**Author's Note:**

> The idea came from listening to the chorus of Woke Up Late by The Drax Project featuring Hailee Steinfeld.


End file.
